


A mother's love

by wordswehavesaid



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Barry and Oliver are Dating, Fluff, M/M, Meet the Family, Moira is Alive, nothing but fluff awaits you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 00:58:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4983697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordswehavesaid/pseuds/wordswehavesaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barry and Oliver have been dating for a few months, and things are getting serious enough that it's time to meet their respective families. Which is how Barry ends up in Queen Manor's sitting room with his heart hammering faster than should even be possible for him waiting for Moira Queen to join them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A mother's love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starrxlorrd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrxlorrd/gifts), [Devil_In_Disguise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devil_In_Disguise/gifts).



> Inspired by [this tumblr post]().  
> That's about it. But, um, consider it a weird unofficial AU extension of "Parental Approval" if you want. Kind of fits the theme. Enjoy!

He’s sweating. Excessively. That’s probably a worrying symptom, maybe of some larger internal problem he should go have looked at instead of being here right now.

Instead, he forces himself to remain sitting and wipes his palms on his jeans. Oliver notices. Of course he does.

“Barry, it’s going to be fine. You’ve met my mother before.”

“No, I saw her at a party for like five seconds,” he mutters back. However confident Oliver is that things will be fine, the fact remains that they’re both practically whispering on the sitting room couch in Queen Manor. “And I didn’t even talk to her - oh that was probably really rude, right? She probably remembers that, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s making us wait, it means she doesn’t like me.”

“No it doesn’t, calm down,” Oliver states firmly, cheating in towards him on the couch so that he can place his hands over Barry’s shoulders, kneading the tensed muscles there. He closes his eyes with a sigh, unable to keep from relaxing into the touch like always. “She’s just finishing getting ready. My mother likes to look her best when receiving guests, that’s all. It has nothing to do with you.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true, Oliver,” a woman’s voice, clear and somehow elegant in tone alone, jolts him back into reality and Barry jumps, dislodging the other man’s hands in the process. “After all, Mr. Allen is our guest, and certainly a special one at that.”

Oliver’s mother is as regal as their family name. She shares her son’s blonde hair and keen eyes, focused in on Barry while a smile that he isn’t sure is perfunctory plays on her lips, a red shade that matches her dress.

Barry’s on his feet before he even realizes it. “Mrs. Queen! Uh, it’s so good to meet you, formally, I mean. I’m Barry Allen - which you just said.”

His eyes go straight to the floor, not even daring to look at Oliver right now. God, the older man must be so disappointed in him. Why is he  _always_  like this?

A pair of sensible flats enter his field of vision as the woman draws up to him. He thinks he can hear some of Oliver’s wry humor in her voice now as she remarks, “Thea warned me you were unaccountably sweet.” His head darts back up in surprise to see a certain light in her eyes as she regards him, only for her gaze to shift to his partner instead. “I have to wonder how my son caught your attention.”

“Mom.” Oliver’s stood now, his hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and he’s a little worried now this is about to turn into a standoff with how guarded the other man looks, practically radiating waves of protection. “Since Barry had the day off I thought it’d be nice for you two to get to know each other.”

“Yes, Oliver, and it was so good of you to finally reach that conclusion. I’m well aware I’m the last of the family to be introduced.” She turns back to him and reaches seamlessly for his elbow, guiding him to sit back down with her on the couch. Which also has the effect of bumping Oliver out of position, and he maybe throws a frightened look over his shoulder at the man in a clear distress call. “Now I don’t blame you, dear. I realize certain…parties my son associates with tend to cultivate a reputation for me.”

“Uh, well, I haven’t really been paying attention to any of that sort of talk, Mrs. Queen.” He hopes it’s the right thing to say even if it’s not exactly true. It had been impossible to ignore Felicity’s goodbye hug and promise to bring flowers to the funeral. So he adds, “And Oliver’s always had only the best to say about you. He really cares.”

He can’t help glancing to the other man with a smile as he says it. Oliver’s perched on the arm of the sofa across from them, looking ready to intervene at a moment’s notice. But his eyes soften at Barry’s words and look, and he gives a small nod, if either agreement or encouragement. Perhaps both.

When Barry turns his head back around, it’s to see Moira Queen gazing at her son with a loving smile. It barely loses any of the fondness once she refocuses on him. “He’s far too kind to his mother for his own good most times, I’m afraid. And it’s Moira, Barry. After all, I can already see Oliver considers you part of the family.”

His eyes widen as his face flushes red at the pronouncement and he darts another shy look, again, at Oliver. “Mom,” the older man says, and he thinks it’s the closest thing he’s heard to a whine coming from him. “Don’t you have embarrassing stories to tell or something?”

“If you insist, honey.” Barry has to choke back his laugh at the pained expression Oliver makes at that. He thinks he’s finally found the one person the other man will always lose to in a battle of wits.

The afternoon isn’t all quips at his partner’s expense, or even his own. Moira has some questions, of course, about his life in Central, his job - both of them - and his family. Her look turns to one of pure sympathy as he recounts the story of his mother’s murder, and he’s genuinely comforted when she takes his hand.

At some point the Queen photo albums are taken out, a must for any meet-the-parents session it seems, and he’ll admit to cooing with the woman over pictures of a younger Oliver, some with Thea, some with a boy he’s told is Tommy Merlyn. Oliver migrates to stand behind the couch, leaning over to look and supposedly provide more “accurate” commentary to his mother’s stories. One of his hands rests on her shoulder and the other on Barry’s, and he brings his own hand up to rest atop it, occasionally tilting his head back to catch the other man’s eye with a wide smile.

He can’t believe this is happening, that he somehow hasn’t screwed up, that Oliver’s mom actually  _likes him_ , and he completely misses the knowing, pleased looks she favors the two of them with each time they share a grin or laugh.

Eventually, though, they have to wrap things up. Oliver wants to swing by the Arrow Cave to check on things with the team, and Barry’s got to run back to Central for another patrol of the city. He stands with Moira in the foyer while Oliver goes to get their jackets.

“Thank you for everything, Moira. I really…it means a lot to me to be accepted by Oliver’s family.”

“And why wouldn’t we? Seeing what you’ve done to him, it’s  _me_  who should be thanking  _you_. I’m proud of the man Oliver’s become, but he was always so lost. He felt he’d lost something of himself on that island.” Her face darkens for a moment with old grief, and he shares it. But her eyes flit back to him and her expression warms as she states, “I think he’s found that again with you.”

Barry’s mouth falls open, but no words emerge. He’s stunned, and doubly so when she wraps him in a hug and murmurs, “Thank you,” in his ear. It’s all he can do to embrace her back.

It’s brief, for soft footfalls on the carpet indicate Oliver’s return. He helps Barry into his jacket and then turns to his mother for his own farewell. They share a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Moira’s hand lingers on her son’s arm for a beat after they pull away. “Be careful.”

“Sure, mom,” Oliver promises, illogical as it is for the vigilante to do so.

“Both of you,” she reaffirms, then smiles with such fondness. “My beautiful boys.”

Barry feels his throat constrict, and he wouldn’t know what to say even if he could around the lump that’s risen up in it. He thinks he just ends up nodding stupidly while his eyes tear up.

Oliver barely waits till the front door’s shut behind them before stopping them. “What’s wrong. Did she say something to you while I was out of the room?” The concern is quickly turning to frustration and just a bit of disappointment. “I knew this would–”

“No,” he finally manages, though his voice wavers. “I mean I - this was a good idea. Really. And I love you. So much.”

Now Oliver looks worried. “Yeah, me too.”

Something eases in his chest at that, at how simple those words are and how quickly they fall from Oliver’s lips. Like Moira is right, like Barry really does make a difference, make Oliver  _better_.

He takes the man’s face in both hands and leans in for a kiss, slow and mostly chaste. They are on the front steps of his family home, after all. Oliver places his hands on Barry’s hips and holds him there even after they break apart.

“You’re really ok?”

“I am now,” he tells him with a beaming smile.

Oliver pecks him softly on the lips again. “Good. C’mon, I’ll give you a lift to the foundry. You can take off from there.”

“You mean the Cave. And Firestorm’s the one who takes off.”

“You know what I meant.”

They walk to the car, an arm each around the other’s waist, neither aware of the woman who watches behind a curtain from the house.

Moira Queen, who watches with a smile.


End file.
